Brothers in arms

Monday

May 28, 2007 at 12:01 AM

STOCKTON - There are hundreds of bricks in the World War II memorial at Weber Point, each engraved with a name. Eighteen rows from the top and five columns from the right, three bricks laying side-by-side bear the same surname - Montanez.

Christian Burkin

STOCKTON - There are hundreds of bricks in the World War II memorial at Weber Point, each engraved with a name. Eighteen rows from the top and five columns from the right, three bricks laying side-by-side bear the same surname - Montanez.

The bricks bear three names for three brothers: Refugio "Ray," Antonio "Tony" and Blas Montanez, all of whom fought with the U.S. Army in Europe during WWII.

Only two returned.

Ray Montanez, 85, served in the 10th Mountain Division, a light infantry unit trained in skiing and mountaineering. He fought through Italy's Appenine Mountains, building fortifications, clearing mine fields and, too often, climbing to remote mountain perches to retrieve the bodies of fallen comrades. Whatever he was told to do, he got it done, reads a citation written by his company commander.

Drafted in 1943 when he was just 18 years old, Blas Montanez was assigned to the 603rd Tank Destroyer Battalion. He was a driver and later a gunner on an M-18 Hellcat. His unit crossed from England to Normandy with George Patton's Third Army, then fought through Belgium and Germany.

"When the war ended, I was at the Rhine," he said. His unit had been aimed at the heart of Berlin, but was called off at Munich.

Tony Montanez, the second eldest, was killed in the Battle of the Bulge, a major German offensive launched Dec. 16, 1944, in which roughly 19,000 other Americans were killed.

"I was a lucky one," said Blas Montanez, who turns 81 in June. "And Ray was lucky too."

Both came home and raised families. Ray returned to a job at the Tillie Lewis Cannery and married his longtime sweetheart, Eleanor, now 85, in 1946.

In the decades since, the brothers say, they have thought little and said less about their experiences. But lately, they say, that has changed.

Neither is gushing to spill tales of valor. Ray Montanez, who was awarded two Bronze Stars, is quick to say he spent much of his time running and hiding from enemy forces.

"I tried to stay far away from them," he chuckled.

And Blas Montanez dismisses the notion of combat glory altogether.

"It's not something you should be so damn proud about," he said. His thoughts of war have been rekindled watching another generation of young Americans return from foreign fields.

"These soldiers now, they're going to need help," he said. "They've lost this, lost that and they'll have to live with it for the rest of their lives."

Eleanor Montanez said lately her husband has been much more pensive than usual, which Ray readily admits. Without work to keep him distracted, he says, he spends long hours thinking about the youth he shared with Tony.

"Now that I'm home, I sit in the back room and think," he said. "I never thought I was going to live this long."

Blas and Ray's children and grandchildren have asked them about their stories, realizing that history can be lost if we don't stop to listen.

Ray's great-granddaughter Cicily Hernandez, 11, coaxed stories from Ray for a school project. The characteristically taciturn Blas has let slip only fragments to his children.

"My son asked me a few questions, and I say a little bit and that's it," he said.

For many veterans, these fragments are all that remains. A fire at the National Personnel Records Center in St. Louis in 1973 destroyed the files of 16 to 18 million veterans - including those of Ray Montanez.